Wandering Mind
by vanillaparchment
Summary: A wandering mind and wishful thinking in the library. H/Hr


Disclaimer: I'm working on finally admitting that I don't own Harry Potter.

A/N: I know, I know I said I was working on the last bit of the 'Defining the Dots' series, but I haven't reached a proper ending yet and I'm trying very hard not to force it. So, here's this. It's in a bit of a messy state, and it's lacking a plot, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.

~*~

"Love's heralds should be thoughts,

Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams."

--William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

What is it that we're discussing again? I've forgotten, to be honest. I know, it's stupid—you always tell me I'm so good at listening to you. It's not hard; not usually, anyway. I'd have to make an exception for anything that involves school… Potions, particularly, but that's not the point. But what is? I wouldn't know; things have been so mixed up lately. I suppose war tends to do that. Anything to do with me does that. But you don't mind, do you? Not when I drag you off to the Ministry to get killed for no reason, being stupid as usual—but I don't want to think about that. Everything was such a nightmare, but I think you understand, sort of.

You're always there in my nightmares with me.

I wish you'd let me go through them alone.

Well, no, I don't. It makes everything so much easier, to have someone like you with me. But then I could lose you, and I—

I've got to stop this. Maybe I'd better start listening to you…

"… and so obviously this upset the goblins. You've talked to Bill, you know what he says they're like to wizards. It's not really unjustified, either—"

You're too pretty for your own good, you know. Too pretty for mine. I suppose you think I never notice your looks. I do notice—I notice too much.

I jump suddenly, for you've stretched a hand across the library table and closed your slender fingers softly around my wrist. I blink and stare at you. You've angled your chin slightly to the left, your warm eyes dark with concern, and your matter-of-fact tone changes to that gentle, familiar voice that you use when you reassure me.

"Harry, I know you're not listening to me," you say quietly, your lip lifting in a small smile. "Perhaps you'd rather go to dinner?"

Dinner? Oh, right. You offered to stay in the library with me instead of joining Ron and Ginny—Ginny.

I shake my head.

You sigh and draw back your hand. I wish you'd left it there. As you lean back, you sweep your unruly curls off your shoulder, your fingers trailing across your neck as you do. It's those movements, those unintentionally graceful movements that push me to stare at you like a dumbfounded idiot. All those girls that think they can win a person over by practicing… as if practicing how they walk or smile or (Merlin forbid) giggle, they'd make themselves a better person. They've got their scripts, guys have theirs. I've always wondered what happen when the script ends. But—I've sort of already seen that, haven't I? The cast breaks up, the directors wrap it up, and everyone starts watching you…

You don't follow any plotline—no matter what people make you out to be, you're still being you. You're so articulate I sometimes forget that when it comes to being… well, being who you are, you're artless. You bite your lip, unaware that my eyes immediately trail along the curves of your mouth. You blush a soft pink and never notice that I'm trying not to stroke your cheek with my hand. You laugh and never see me tripping over myself at the sound as I walk next to you.

"Avoiding Ginny won't make anything easier, you know."

I start and stare at you. You stare right back, with that openly piercing brown gaze that tells me you're not going to let me get out of this conversation.

"Make what easier?" I ask casually, rubbing the back of my neck. You read the sign immediately, then shake your head.

"Don't try that one, Harry. Ginny told me about—what happened."

Now your voice has softened again, your tone becoming direct but caring. So have your eyes—a soft brown-gold, framed by long brown lashes that you've never bothered to cover up with make-up. You lean forward, sliding your fingers into mine.

"But I don't know what you think about it," you say, squeezing my hand, "And I don't think I have to, don't forget that Ginny was your friend first. And she's not going to forget that, either, so—"

"You're wrong, Hermione."

I didn't mean to sound so sharp, but before I can change my tone, you draw back. Your eyes cloud over slightly, and I know I've hurt your feelings.

"I'm sorry." I say finally, and I hope you see that I mean it. "But that's not right; Ginny wasn't my friend, not really, not like you, at least."

Just as quickly as they appeared, the clouds leave your eyes. Your eyes shimmer slightly, but then the light fades. You bow your head.

"She was better than I was this year, I'm afraid," you murmur quietly, with almost imperceptible difficulty. I stare at you.

"What do you mean?"

You fiddle with the corner of the page of your book.

"I was… I was an insufferable…" you break off, looking miserable. "I wasn't there for you, Harry, and I'm… I'm sorry."

You never have trouble with those two words, do you? Even when you don't need to say them.

"You weren't insufferable, Hermione—"

Brilliant, Potter. You have such a way with words.

"I was close, though," you say with a feeble smile. "I should've trusted you, and I didn't. And now look at—look at what happened."

I can't believe that you'd blame yourself for something you always tell me wasn't my fault.

"It's not your fault, Hermione, that wasn't your fault!" I blurt out quickly, and before I know what I'm doing, I've reached over and taken your hand. "I don't blame you."

You lift your gaze, and your eyes glimmer as you say with a half-laugh. "That's a relief."

I know you're grateful for what I said. But I'm also aware that it hasn't changed anything.

I know there's something I can say, something I want to say, to make you feel better. But you wouldn't believe me.

I do love you, though.

And I know I ought to tell you.

And I would, if I could—but I can't… so I won't.

I know, that's a stupid saying. At least, I thought it was when I first heard it. I mean, everything about it is so blatantly obvious that you just sort of laugh at it.

But then, when it comes to you, even though I can't, I might end up doing it anyway. Because I'm so awkward when it comes to girls, because I'm so comfortable when it comes to you…

Merlin, I'm not making any sense, am I?

"Come on."

And then you tug me out of my chair with both hands, offering a slight smile.

"We'll talk about it later."

Oh, Hermione. If you only knew what I was thinking.

"Yeah. Maybe we will."


End file.
